


After the Storm

by doomteacosy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Aftermath - Chuck Wendig
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16788229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomteacosy/pseuds/doomteacosy
Summary: Sinjir goes to see her the second day after she's allowed visitors. Fashionably late enough to seem as if he's not that worried, but quicker than anyone other than Temmin or Wedge as far as he's aware."You look terrible," is the first thing she says, pushing herself up further in the bed with a wince. Fresh out of a bacta tank but still not quite healed, she is absolutely not one to talk.





	After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Written on my phone at work as an excuse to just have Norra and Sinjir banter at each other??? Edited halfhearted so long after reading the book that I've lost all sense of the characters voices???
> 
> Posted, honestly, bc my New Years resolution included "post one fic" and I was not prepared to actually post anything else I've written this year....

Sinjir goes to see her the second day after she's allowed visitors. Fashionably late enough to seem as if he's not that worried, but quicker than anyone other than Temmin or Wedge as far as he's aware.

"You look terrible," is the first thing she says, pushing herself up further in the bed with a wince. Fresh out of a bacta tank but still not quite healed, she is absolutely _not_ one to talk.

"First, you are not one to talk. At all," he says as he stops at the end of her bed. He attempts to raise an eyebrow, but the motion turns into a wince as it pulls at his own still-healing temple. He continues on all the same. "Are you remotely aware of the fact that you looked like you belong in one of those terrible horror holos Temmin watches when we found you? Second, I look _incredible_ for someone who was _shot_ in the _head_."

"Come now, it was a graze," she says, the smile tugging at her lips not quite reaching her eyes, like she's perhaps keenly aware of what else could have happened. 

"The _head_ , Norra. And it ruined my hair and makes it very hard to be properly expressive."

She frowned. "You're keeping it because you think it makes you look dashing and dangerous, aren't you?"

His head wobbled back and forth with a hum. It may have crossed his mind. "I've been busy, you know. But we were talking about you, remember? Not all of us go about repeatedly crashing things and getting the filling knocked out of us."

"Mm, yes, I suppose it does take a certain amount of talent to break this many bones. But you know I do love these hospital stays. I'd be lost without them. And I'd have to cook."

He purses his lips. "We're all safer when you don't do that, yes."

She doesn't even argue that point, just waves him closer and pats the bed next to her like some adoring, if somewhat mocking, mother and, gods help him, he lets her. He skirts around the bed, as if to take in the view from her window, but settles for leaning against the edge of her bed.

The sit like that for a while, letting the moment breathe in a way neither could have imagine when they first met.

Finally her wry voice breaks the silence. "So, a politician?"

"Disgusting, I know."

"I think it suits you, actually."

"I can honestly say that I have never been so insulted in my whole life. See if I ever visit your bedside again. Or do you any political favors." There's no heat to it, though, and she just chuckles in response.

Another silence stretches between them, feeling somehow more strained, as if the universe knows where this conversation is going before he does, and finally her eyebrows draw together and she asks, "How's Jas?"

He lets the question sit between them a moment, turning it over in his head. Technically Jas is fine. A picture of health. But that's not what Norra is asking, and he knows it. Finally he sighs, and lets that long slow breath drag out the only response he has with it. "If resurrection were possible I'd bring him back and give him a piece of my mind. Not—" He gestures impatiently, stumbling over his words. "We had an understanding, you see. Hurt Jas and he would hurt himself. By way of me torturing him."

Norra huffs. "Present situation aside, I believe she was more likely to hurt him."

"He commented on that as well," he sniffs in response, but the smile tugging at his lips disappears almost as quickly as it came. "And yet here we are."

"Here we are," she agrees, her own eyes wandering to the window and the city beyond.

He opens his mouth several times, but isn't entirely sure what he wants to say. He isn't entirely sure how he feels still, really. So he just takes a breath and continues looking out the window instead.

He doesn't say anything when her hand settles over his.

After a moment she takes pity on him. To a degree. "Speaking of matters of the heart, how's Kyl?"

He tilts a look at her like a petulant child. "Quite good, thank you."

"He's much too good for you."

He snorts. "I know it. He knows it. Whatever shall we do?"

"What indeed, what indeed..." She makes a thoughtful noise, and looks innocently out the window. "Any weddings in the near future for me to look forward to?"

He swivels his head around and gives her an affronted look. " _No_. What, are you trying to _actually_ become my mother?"

"I only do it because you keep forcing me into the position," she says, giving him an arch look.

"Well, I don't think you're even old enough to be my mother."

She hums an agreement, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "Anyway, I never said I was asking about a wedding for _you_. I clearly meant Han and Leia. At this rate they'll put it off until they have grandchildren."

He harrumphs and gives her a glare before turning back away.

"If you were my son, however," she continued lightly, "I would be very proud of the man you're becoming."

That is apparently the final straw, and he scoffs as he pulls his hand from her. Swallows past the weird tightness in his chest. It's ridiculous, really.

She _snorts_.

_Really_ , he's never going to attempt to rescue her again. Ever!

"I accept the lack of wedding as long you do your familial duty and show up at holiday dinners. Both of you, preferably," she says breezily.

"You're disgusting, you know that? Absolutely horrid. I should have left you on Jakku."

She only smiles at him in response.

"And I don't believe your sister much likes me."

"Oh, no worries. We have that in common."

They lapse into another silence broken only by the sound of everyday life going on all around them.

He studies his own clasped hands for a long moment, and when he speaks again the words are halting. He doesn't know how to do these things, have these conversations. But you're supposed to, aren't you?

"To say I'm sorry feels empty and, I think, hugely insufficient," he says, looking resolutely out the window. "But, I am. Sorry. And..." He takes a breath and the rest tumbles out in a rush. "Oh, I don't know. I hope you find a semblance of peace now? I don't know. I hope we all do."

He glances at her and takes in her solemn face, then quickly looks away.

"Thank you," she says, simply, and he lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

"I don't know that quiet or simple are ever in the cards for me," he says, after another pause. "I'd be bored, frankly, and I've no doubt you would too. But I feel like I could use a lot less death, at least. The entire galaxy could."

She hums in agreement and he hesitates for a moment, fearing he'll sound... well, not entirely knowing what he fears he'll sound like. Like one of those starry eyed people he works with that he teases endlessly, even though he's starting to see their point. He blows out another breath.

“You know, Mon Mothma has all of these ideas about everything and... I mean, they sound nice, honestly." He tries not to make it sound like a question. He's not sure he entirely succeeds. "She's a dreamer, but she's remembers the Republic the way it was before and it doesn't sound... terrible? Maybe it's finally time for something good to happen."

Norra's smiling at him again, the expression disgustingly fond even with the shadow still lingering in her eyes.

"I should go," he says quickly. "Paperwork to sign, backs to stab. You know how it is."

"Oh, I'm sure," she says with yet another indulgent smile.

He scoffs again and makes his way across the room in response, then hesitates at the door and turns back to her. "No more running around, please. It has been a very long war and suddenly caring about people has been very exhausting."

She smiles again, the pall over the room lifting again, if just a little bit more. "I'll be careful."

He considers her a long moment, then purses his lips. "Nope, I just don't trust you." It's her turn to roll her eyes, and he carries on accordingly. "Ordering them not to let you off planet probably wouldn't work, either. I'll have to think about it."

" _Goodbye_ , Sinjir."

He tilts his head in return and steps out, closing the door behind him, a smile on his own lips.

It's been a very long war, but he's grateful for the things that haven’t been lost. 


End file.
